The Cask of Amontillado
by Nehszriah
Summary: One of Poe's most intriguing stories, with a Slayers twist. Man, I miss Slayers.


To be honest, I had wanted to get this done during Lent... or before Lent. See how well that worked out? I do not own _Slayers _or the awesomeness of Mr. Poe.

* * *

**The Cask of Amontillado**

The season was that of Carnival; parties and becoming horridly drunk before the pious season of Lent would force the populous to succumb to a life of religious fasting. I found no reason to observe such an idiotic tradition, yet I always amused those in my circle of contacts that did. One such man was the priest Rezzo Graywords. He was not a priest of the Church by any means; the nickname was given to him as a joke and stuck. Still, the blind man had been my near constant companion one Carnival a few years ago... eventually creating a memory that shall forever be etched into my brain and will be with me even on my dying day.

The... event... shall we say, took place in the middle of one of the excessively lavish parties given every year by the head of state, Lord of Nightmares. The high-and-mighty of the Nightmares principality were all gathered at his grand mansion, making a show of their haughty wealth. My elder sister Zelas was one of the worst in her wolf-skin coat that reeked of death and her overly-gaudy mask of peacock feathers. I just wanted to keep the violet mask over my own facade and fade into the background as she became completely inebriated. My saving grace, however, came from Rezzo as he trundled up to me with full costume adorning his stature. Saying that his style was garish would have been kind. The old man even had the upper half a noh theatre mask covering his face so that his shut lids were concealed from view.

"There you are!" he said cheerily as he stumbled up, clearly under the influence of a few rounds himself. I still have doubts to this day over whether or not he could really tell who he was talking to, but those thoughts have always been quite useless when talking about Rezzo.

"Ah, Rezzo," I smiled broadly. "I have been meaning to implore the usage of your connoisseurship, seeing as I have recently acquired a pipe of what seems to be Amontillado, yet my opinion needs seconding. Are you up to the challenge?"

"Amontillado?" he cried out. "How can one come across such a thing as a pipe of Amontillado at this time? Are you sure?"

"That is why I seek you out."

Now, Rezzo was definitively a quack when it came to most of his past times. Such things as gemmary and painting were nothing more than expertises that the man was able to barely feign in the presence of those hailing from Seiryuun, yet his vertu with ethereal vineyard wines shall remain unmatched in falsity and verity until the end of time.

"Still..." he pondered. "Amontillado!"

"Precisely, and I wish to confirm my suspicions."

"Amontillado! In the middle of Carnival!"

"Exactly. I recall conversing with Baron Gaav earlier and if you wish for me to leave you in this stupor, I can find him instead..."

"That Gaav cannot tell Amontillado from plain sherry!" Rezzo retorted, clearly upset.

"...though many claim that his palate is equal to that of your own."

"Then let us make haste."

"Whereto?"

"Your cellar; where else?"

"Do you not have to be here?"

"I have no engagement and you are perplexed in your current predicament."

"Though the Lord of Nightmares..."

"...can keep his nose out of my business. Also, if you even try to bring Gaav into the conversation again I will beat you with your pipe, as for he cannot tell Amontillado from damned plain sherry..."

"Suit yourself," I snickered. "Shall I lead the way?"

"Yes, by all account do," Rezzo muttered, his speech significantly slurred. He straightened up and took my arm, insisting that I front the expedition.

"Are you sure?" I implored as we exited the mansion. "It is quite moist within my vaults. You should not risk a cold..."

"I will do as I please!" Rezzo snapped. "You are in need of my services and thus you shall acquire them.

So it was with that we made the trek over towards my estate. The venture was not terribly far and was completed within an hour. Once on the grounds, we entered the subterranean family vault and armed ourselves with two flambeaux that were sitting in wait on their sconces.

"Where is the pipe?" Rezzo asked as we descended the staircase into the catacombs. "Is it near?"

"No, it is further onward," I replied. "If only you could truly see the grandeur of these halls. I understand you can only make out shadows with those eyes of yours."

"Yes," he said before letting out a long cough. "That fool Shabranigdu, I shall never forgive him."

"Well then, come along," I said, wrapping my roquelaire around my person. It was rather damp and chilled inside the vaults and the cold was especially trying considering I was still dressed in my rather thin Carnival garb. My companion, however, ultimately seemed worse off than I. As we walked along the stone flooring, Rezzo's cough became longer and stronger with each passing volley.

"Would you like to stop for a rest? Maybe go back...?" I asked.

"No! To the pipe my good man!" Rezzo coughed raspily.

"Would your grandson not worry about where you ran off to?"

"Let the boy worry," Rezzo growled, clearly irritated at this point. "The Amontillado."

"If you wish."

We walked for what could have been ages. The two of us were silent with the exception of Rezzo's distinct cough. I knew that there was no pausing the expedition now, despite my qualms over Rezzo's condition. It has never been in my nature to worry over someone other than myself and my sister, yet I knew that the red-clad man's grandson would be rather quick to draw that annoyingly swift and true blade of his if he had even the slightest inclination that I caused his grandfather harm. That is family, I suppose.

"What is that sound I hear?" Rezzo asked suddenly, actually making me jump in surprise.

"What sound?" I inquired.

"There is a dripping noise quite near. Can you not hear it?"

"Now I can," I replied, the matter having been brought to my attention due to the acute lengths of Rezzo's hearing. "That is just from the river above. When these vaults were built, the waters had yet to encroach upon my family's property. There is actually nitre draping the walls and ceiling and small puddles are beginning to form by the entrances to the sub-vaults now that it has my attention."

"This calls for a drink," Rezzo muttered gruffly. He rummaged through the inside of his cloak and procured a flask. Holding it up proudly, he let out another cough.

"For protection against the cold?" I asked.

"Of course," he wheezed before throwing back his head and draining the flask contents. He let loose an animalistic grin afterwards that seemed in all actuality quite chilling now that I think about it. If his eyes could have seen, I am sure they would have added their effect to make the man's face tenfold haunting.

"Then let us press on," I said, "unless you care to go back."

"Nonsense."

"If you wish."

Thus this sort of behavior continued. Somehow, those gaudy sleeves of Rezzo's were able to hold many more flasks than the first. I was slightly pleased with the flasks myself, for the old man did not mind sharing a drink. We would halt about once every fifty steps, give or take due to the current lack of sobriety we possessed. Time passed and our gaits became haughty swaggers. Rezzo's stumbling became such a burden that we abandoned his flambeaux in a small pool of standing water that had crept down from the moist ceiling.

"Tell me," he grumbled, barely able to speak. "How long are these vaults of yours? I grow weary of this."

"My family is an extensive one, going back to the founding of Nightmares," I replied. "Do not fret, for we are almost there."

A few minutes passed and we arrived at our destination. The room possessed a vaulted ceiling, dripping with nitre, moss and mold. The bleached bones of many a tortured soul lined the walls, reminiscent of the Parisian catacombs of old. Building materials still lay strewn everywhere, evidence that the room had not been intended as the final enclosure. There was a niche in the wall at the far end of the room, just large enough for a man to stand in. I had discovered the niche only a fortnight beforehand, having had taken to exploring the vaults and uncovering such a place quite on accident.

"Tell me my good sir, where is the Amontillado?" Rezzo inquired. I simply chuckled in amusement.

"It is in here, you can be certain," I assured while I set the flambeaux in a holster. Carefully, I led the Red Priest towards the niche and took his hands. "Feel the nitre on the walls. Is it not the most curious thing you have ever come across?"

"Yes, yes, now the Amontillado!" Rezzo argued. He attempted to leave my side, yet found that in his moment of blank placidity, I had shackled his wrists to the niche's wall. "What is the meaning of this?" It was the anger of a man slowly waking from the stupor of drunkenness.

"I assure you," I told him as I backed away, "this is completely necessary. You see, I have hidden the pipe in this room, using a secret snuggery."

"How is that grounds to bind me?"

"It is a Mason secret."

"They let you into the Masons?"

"Of course. Now please be patient, else Baron Gaav may be the one I allow to sample the prized liquor."

"Gaav cannot tell piss from communion wine." I smiled, as he began to occupy himself by muttering insults of the highest degree, taking the attention off of myself.

I set to work with mercury speed. Silently, I acquired the spare masonry and constructed a layer of brick at the edge of Rezzo's niche. Two layers, three, four, soon the wall was at my waist and then my shoulders, eight, nine, he began to scream, his voice cracked and begging for that useless grandson of his, ten, eleven, I was almost done. Cautiously, I raised the flambeaux to the opening, allowing a few splashes of light to trickle down onto the old man.

"Amontillado," he coughed, voice rough from caterwauling. "What a jest indeed. Wait until I tell that sister of yours about the jest. She always knew you were a prime fool."

"Amontillado," I stated. With caution, I replaced the flambeaux on the wall and readied myself to fit the last stone. Muffled and far away, Rezzo's voice laughed. He laughed heartily, attempting to locate humor.

"Of course! Of course! They all will enjoy such a tale! My grandson shall worry shall we stay out much longer. Come, let us make haste!"

"Make haste indeed," I replied.

"Ceipheid, no! Say this is simply a jest! For the love of Ceipheid, tell me!"

"Only a jest."

For a period of time, I stood there. There was no sound with exception of what seeped through the ceiling from the river above. Plink, plink, plink, went the river on the dank stone floor.

"Rezzo," I called out.

Nothing.

"Rezzo."

Again, not a sound.

I took hold of the flambeaux and crossed the room. Quickly I lit a spare that had its perch upon the wall. With a skip I ran towards the niche, my heart leaping in my breast. Sure aim brought the flambeaux in my hand through the opening in the wall and I heard the jingle of bells. I shoved the last brick into its rightful place and leaned against the wall, laughing gayly. I plastered the wall and carefully relocated a set of shelves to act as a shield against unfit eyes. The bones of the dead, resting on their wooden platforms, all stared at me. They had not been moved for nigh a century.

_In pace requiescat_!


End file.
